


and it was hello summer, goodbye to my heart

by lilacdreamer039



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Marcus and Trent are teammates w benefits and they fall in love, that's basically the story, this is set during the 2018 World Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 16:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacdreamer039/pseuds/lilacdreamer039
Summary: Falling for a United player was not on Trent's list of what he wanted to happen when he went to the World Cup. It happens anyway.or, five times Trent tells Marcus to shut up and one time he lets him ramble on.





	and it was hello summer, goodbye to my heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly such a random pairing but I love the idea of it tbh. Marcus and Jesse are obvs the otp but I'm a sucker for players on rivals team being friends and/or falling in love so thus this fic was born.
> 
> also: title is taken from “goodbye summer” by Danielle Bradbery and Thomas Rhett

Falling for a United player was not on Trent's list of what he wanted to happen when he went to the World Cup. It happens anyway.

 

 

 

 

i.

 

 

 

 

Marcus Rashford is by far the _most_ infuriating person Trent has ever known in his whole life.

“He is so cocky and arrogant and I hate him,” Trent tells Hendo after one of their first training sessions, arms crossed.

“You’re just mad that he got past you and scored a goal,” says the man who is _supposed_ to be supportive and agreeing with him. Trent watches in horror as Hendo turns to Marcus and Jesse. “Little Trent here is angry that you managed to score on him.”

 _Traitor,_ Trent thinks. “No I’m not!” He splutters as Marcus looks at him, giving him that godawful smirk of his.

“Really? I thought you would’ve been used to it by now ever since I scored two past you at the derby,” Marcus says in that pompous manner of his. Trent rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“You are such a dick,” Trent retorts with a nasty glare, and Hendo and Jesse both snort in amusement. Marcus just laughs smugly, and if looks could kill Marcus would be a pile of ashes right now.

“It’s okay Trent, you’re just embarrassed you got nutmegged by me today, that’s all.” Why does nothing get to him at all? Jesse lets out a laugh and even Hendo smiles.

("Don't worry, as your club captain I'll watch out for you," Hendo had promised.) 

 _Yeah right,_ Trent thinks, _that was absolute crap._

“Just shut up,” He snaps, storming away from the older boy who has a smirk on his face.

(“Thoughts on Trent?” Jesse asks him afterwards. 

“He’s certainly annoying,” Marcus replies, but there’s a faint smile on his lips. Truthfully, he’d thought the Scouser was cute, especially when he pouted.

Then he quickly shakes his head of any thoughts because there's no way he would ever make a move on a Liverpool player.)

(Absolutely no way.) 

 

 

 

ii.

 

 

 

Being friends with Jesse Lingard means hanging out with Marcus too, and as much as Trent detests the forward, he does genuinely enjoy Jesse’s company. And soon, he finds himself not being _as_ peeved as before by Marcus. By a small amount.

Currently, Trent is not thinking about this because he’s actually managed to get himself _stuck_ in the elevator following the win against Tunisia, and he’s stuck with no one besides Marcus himself. Sadly, there is nobody to blame for the mess that Trent has landed in besides himself. The higher ups must _really_ hate him or something.  

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone in here with you,” Trent snaps. They had both left the celebrations early - Marcus so that he could talk to his mother and Trent because he felt awkward being apart of the party when he hadn’t even played.

“How is this my fault?” Marcus asks, looking up from his phone, “I didn’t want to be stuck in here with you either.” He looks irked, and Trent feels his nerves rising.

“Why do you hate me so much?” The question slips from Trent’s mouth before he can stop it from coming out.

Marcus looks up at him with shock, “What are you talking about? You’re the one that hates me!” 

“Because _you_ always go out of your way to target me during training and you always make fun of me to everyone! And you always bring up _that_ game and I get that you scored two goals against us but - ” Trent trails off, sighing. The 2-1 defeat at Old Trafford is still a touchy subject for him, even months after.

“I didn’t know I was making you feel bad by doing it,” Marcus says, dark brown eyes reflecting genuine regret, “If I’d known I would have stopped a long time ago. I never meant to make you feel like I hated you, and I only continued doing so because this whole time I’ve thought you hated me.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I certainly don’t like you. You’re a pompous ass who thinks he’s better than everyone - ”

“I do _not_ ,” Marcus injects, and Trent gives him a glare. “Sorry, continue on.” 

“And you’re cocky and arrogant, but - I don’t hate you. Not anymore at least.”  

“I’ve never hated you,” Marcus admits, “Maybe there are some antagonistic feelings between us because we’re both the golden boys of enemy teams, but I have never hated you that I wanted you to like, die. I mean, sure, I want to score 30 goals in the derby against you but we’re England teammates now which means I want you to succeed. When you’re with England, of course.” 

“I don’t think I’m succeeding too well,” Trent confesses softly, “I have no idea what I’m doing here and I don’t know why Gareth picked me because everyone is so good and I’m just not - not good enough.”

He has no idea why he’s telling Marcus of all people about the thoughts that have plagued him but he’s been anxiously bursting to tell someone since the beginning of camp. He thinks it might be the fact that he’s afraid to tell Hendo because he would start coddling Trent, and the fact that he’s terrified to tell his family because they would be upset to hear him talk so unconfidently about himself that he ends up telling the United forward.

“Don’t say that,” Marcus says firmly, his tone surprisingly strong, “You’re good which is why you’re here. Everyone knows you’re going to be a future star, Trent, me included. I’m not looking forward to your prime and when we have to play against one another in the derbies, because I know you’re going to be amazing if you’re already this good at such a young age.”

“I’m literally a year younger than you,” Trent smiles, “But thanks Marcus.” 

“No problem,” Marcus answers quickly, “Besides, sometimes I feel like that too. I get it. I'm terrified one day I'm going to wake up and it's all going to be a dream, you know? Everyone just seems so - how do you put it - established. No one’s my age here you know, besides you - ” and he pauses, “It’s nice to have somebody to talk to you know? Someone who really understands. Everyone here is a tad too old to connect to, even Jesse, and Dele seems so much older than how he actually is. And honestly, I’m kind of scared of Pickford.” 

“Me too!” Trent laughs. “I think he might need to release some energy with a quick shag.” Don’t get him wrong, he thinks Jordan is a great guy, but their goalkeeper is...intense.

Marcus sighs wistfully. “I wish I had somebody around. Gareth won’t allow us to go out and I just - even a footballer would do, you know, and you - ” and he stops talking, eyes focused on Trent. Trent looks at him. 

“What about me?”

“You’re really annoying, you know that? I thought you were a shy lad, and it turns out you talk more than Jesse does,” And he smiles fondly at the mention of his good friend. “I guess all I’m saying is, if you were an option, you wouldn’t be the worst.”

“What?” Trent asks, just as the elevator starts working again and promptly open at their door.

“Nice talking to you, Trent,” Marcus smiles as he walks away, leaving a confused Trent standing in the hallway. He’s about to go back to his own room when he decides to trail after Marcus.

His mind races, Marcus’ words replaying in his head over and over again. _If you were an option, you wouldn’t be the worst._ Trent feels like he might be having a fever dream when he catches up with Marcus who’s about to go into his hotel room.  

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Trent asks forwardly, “I really need to know.”

Marcus blinks before his confident mask slips, revealing his vulnerability. "The past few days have been such a whirlwind. I can’t say anything to Kane or Jesse or Gareth, or even my family about how I really feel. I just want to forget about everything for a few moments, to be honest," Marcus says, and Trent takes a breath. 

"I can help you forget," Trent says softly, and his hands longer on the hem on his shirt. His tone is suggestive, and he sees Marcus' eyes darken, dancing with lust in the soft lights of the hotel room. 

"Are you sure?" Marcus asks, coming closer. Trent can feel the heat of Marcus’ body radiating to his own as he nods.

Marcus' hands are warm against his tingling skin, and Trent presses a kiss up to Marcus' lips, reveling in the quiet of the room.

He's never been a small thing, but somehow Marcus manages to make him feel like a delicate flower when he picks Trent up and places him on the king sized bed, his lips ghosting over Trent's mocha skin.

"Are you sure? Really and truly, are you sure? I need to know right now because I don't think I'm going to be able to stop if we go any further," Marcus says quietly, brown eyes locked with Trent's own, and Trent just nods.

"I want it. This, I mean. I want you," Trent says quietly, full of nervousness and shyness. It's like his first time having sex all over again. “Here’s a deal. We become fuck buddies, no strings attached. And then after the World Cup, we leave each other alone.”

"Okay," Marcus whispers, "Okay," and Trent's heart is beating quickly, pounding in his chest. He wonders if Marcus can hear. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, Trent, so one more time are you sure - ” 

“Yes Marcus, now shut up and kiss me,” Trent tells him, and he lets Marcus place his hands on his skin, pulling Marcus’ face down to meet his own.

 

 

 

iii.

 

 

 

Surprisingly it’s Marcus who can’t keep up with Trent, and by the fourth time they’ve slept together Trent hears Marcus mutter something about how ‘Scousers are mad even in bed.’

He just laughs when Marcus says that, feeling quite proud of himself for being so energetic still while the other player lays sprawled in bed, breathing heavily.

They lose by one goal against Belgium but that’s okay because they both just made their first World Cup starts and despite both of them playing for more than two-thirds of the match, they’re both filled with energy which translates into their more intimate and frivolous activities.  

“So we’re just friends that fuck?” Marcus asks, staring up at the ceiling as they lie in his hotel bed.

“We are not friends,” Trent tells him after his breathing has returned to normal and he can actually see clearly.

“No?” Marcus asks again, a playful smirk on his face and his eyes glinting with mischief, and Trent’s heart flutters at the sight. “Because I’m pretty sure that we would have stopped fucking after the first time if we didn’t like each other’s company. But here we are, and seeing as how you’re still here that means you do like my company, and I think the definition of being friends is enjoying one another’s presence and - ”

“You are _so_ annoying,” Trent laughs, throwing a pillow at his face.

“But seriously. I can’t believe I actually am becoming friends with a Liverpool fan,” Marcus grins cheekily, and Trent rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” He says playfully, and he takes Marcus’ hand to show him what his hand lines mean. He learned it from one of the Russian workers at the hotel, and it’s actually interesting. Trent has always liked the stars and myths and all that. 

He doesn’t say anything about how Marcus never makes fun of him for talking about fate and the future, unlike Ben back at the academy in Liverpool. Nor does he mention how Marcus always indulges him in a game of chess without complaining. 

And if Marcus notices anything about Trent holding his hand and not denying the fact that they’re definitely friends now, he says nothing.

 

 

 

  
iv.

 

 

 

They beat Colombia and it’s everything - everyone is screaming and enthusiastic and Trent and Marcus are especially energized that night, fucking until their voices are hoarse and there are marks all over their skin.

The win against Sweden is different. Trent feels like he’s floating on a dream when the final whistle blows and he sees someone fall to their knees in jubilation, and suddenly he realizes that they’ve made it, they’ve really _made_ it into the semi-finals.

“One more win,” Marcus tells him when he’s picked himself up after shedding tears of joy in front of national television, “One more win.”

The fans are still screaming their names and singing with joy, and Trent can literally feel all of England behind the team.

“It’s coming home,” Marcus whispers into his skin that night, soft and quiet. This time they’re softer, gentle with one another.

“It’s coming home,” Trent agrees and his eyes are shining in the darkness of the hotel room, and the two of them dream.

“When we win the World Cup,” Marcus says, and Trent doesn’t bother correcting the when because he knows they’re going to win, he has so much faith in England, “When we win, I’m going to kiss you on TV.”

“No you won’t,” Trent says, and he’s giggling. “You won’t. I won't let you, and you don't have the courage to do so.”

“Yes I will,” Marcus grins from above Trent, and Trent thinks, _he’s so handsome_. “I definitely will now.”

“No you won’t, shut up,” and Trent tastes hope on Marcus’ lips.

 

 

 

  
v. 

 

 

 

Trent knocks on Marcus’ door softly, biting his lip nervously. He had been one of the last ones out of the showers onto the bus and he had isolated himself, slipping his earbuds on and not talking to anyone, not even Jesse. The sight of Marcus sitting on the ground with his arms wrapped around his knees, looking so defeated, had hurt Trent more than he had expected.

A month ago, Trent would not have cared about Marcus' feelings at all. He might have even taken joy in it. But now, it upset him to see his...friend so defeated.

“Trent,” Marcus breathes when he opens the door, eyes still red and watery, and Trent’s heart pangs as he takes in Marcus’ hollow appearance.

Trent smiles sadly at him, walking into his hotel room and closing the door. Marcus looks absolutely broken, and Trent knows he must be blaming himself and taking the loss hard.

"Marcus," Trent says gently as Marcus sits on the bed, and Marcus looks at him, heartbreak clear as day in his brown eyes. "It's okay, Marcus."

“No it isn’t. I screwed up,” Marcus mutters, “I didn't score a goal, I screwed up the last free-kick, I could have done better, hit it more accurately - ”

“Marcus, you did amazing out there,” Trent consoles him, “And this is not your fault.”

“I wanted it so badly, Trent, so _so_ badly,” And Trent’s heart breaks as Marcus sobs into his shoulder.

“I know,” Trent murmurs, placing his head on Marcus’, “I wanted it badly too. Croatia were just - they just managed to outplay us.”

“I just wanted to win for us, for all the English,” Marcus admits through his tears, and Trent stares solemnly at the ground. “They deserve it so much, Trent, they’re such good fans and I just wanted to make them happy.”

“I know,” Trent says, and he has no words to say. “I know.”

This time when they sleep together, Marcus is gentle and tender in his movements, and Trent knows there will be no marks from being rough like the first few times. It’s slow and gentle and nothing like the other times they’ve fucked. This time it’s different.

"I won't forget you," Trent tells him at three in the morning, admiring how Marcus' chocolate skin is illuminated by the moonlight shining into the room.

"I won't forget you either," Marcus tells him, “Thank you for everything,” and when they kiss one last time before Trent leaves his room to go back to his own, it's bittersweet and full of unsaid promises and words.

Trent tells Marcus goodbye when they land back in England in front of the squad and the media with a knowing glint in his brown eyes. Marcus smirks and ruffles his hair.

“I suppose we’ll go back to being so _very_ bitter enemies now,” Marcus laughs, and Trent’s glad to see him happy again, “Prepare to get your ass kicked when we play you.”  

“Shut up,” Trent grins, tone playful, and he reluctantly parts from the forward who has gone from being one of the people he likes least to well - _his_ _lover,_ his mind whispers, and he has to blink to rid himself of the stray thought - to his friend.

They both know the truth, that they have already said their true goodbyes to one another in a bed in Russia where their walls finally came tumbling down and let the other in.

 _Whatever happens from here on out happens,_  Trent thinks. And as he watches Marcus walk away with Jesse, Jordan’s arm around Trent’s shoulder, he knows without a doubt that he’s fallen for Marcus.

 

 

 

\+ one.

 

 

 

Trent’s quite alarmed to see a rock being thrown at his window at two in the morning, to be honest. Shuffling over to his window, he’s about ready to call the cops. It has to be a group of rowdy children or teens playing a prank on him. He rubs his eyes when he sees the sight that awaits him when he peers out the window, and he wonders if maybe the higher ups are playing a prank on him instead.

“Marcus?” He asks as he opens the window, half-whispering in the night even though he knows nobody’s awake at this hour. Marcus stands below his window, a guitar in hand. Jesse is standing next to him and beaming, looking far too alert for this hour.

“Trent!” Marcus shouts, quieting down when he realizes that everyone is sleeping in the houses surrounding Trent’s. “Trent,” He says, softer than before.

“Should I come down?” Trent asks, and Marcus looks conflicted.

“No - actually yes. Yes, come down,” And he throws an apologetic look Jesse's way as he places the guitar on the ground, “Just jump out the window, I’ll catch you.”

“You better not let me fall and break a leg,” Trent says, and the more he thinks of it, this might actually be a genuine attempt by Jose Mourinho to hurt Liverpool. “Or maybe I shouldn’t. This might be a power play.”

“Oh my god - Trent, I’m not going to let you fall,” Marcus exclaims indignantly, arms outstretched. He does catch Trent actually, and Trent smiles shyly up at him as he’s placed onto the ground.

“What’s going on?” Trent asks, and Marcus smiles nervously at him.

“I want to tell you something,” and he sounds extremely hesitant and terrified.

“You couldn’t tell me over text?” Trent intends for his words to come out annoyed, but instead it ends up being playful and soft. That's just how it is with Marcus now.

“I was actually planning on serenading you with a more... _rugged_ version of _Wonderwall_ , but somehow I don’t think that’s the best way. Sorry Jesse,” Marcus turns to the older man, “I made you stay up and watch Juan teach me guitar for endless painful hours when I’m not even going to use it.”

“My eardrums may never recover but I got videos of you failing miserably, that’s all I wanted,” Jesse states, and Trent is going to need those videos. "Besides, my two young boys are - "

Marcus sends Jesse a warning look, who promptly quiets and turns his attention back to the ground.

"Marcus, what is going on?" Trent asks, dazed and confused. All he knows is that there are two United players standing outside his house. 

“Look, Trent,” Marcus says, still standing below the window. “I know we’re technically supposed to hate each other now that we’re not on England duty anymore. We’re supposed to be enemies and want to kick the guts out of one another, but...I don’t feel that way. I don’t know if you feel this way either, and I know it was only a month or so, but I think - I think I love you.”

Trent stares down at the Manchester United forward with shock in his eyes, and he’s never felt more speechless. “Marcus - ”

“Just hear me out,” Marcus utters, brown eyes looking up at Trent hopefully. “I know this is really sudden because we haven’t talked since we landed in England which was like a month ago, and you probably thought I didn’t care anymore but I do. I didn’t expect to feel like this at all, but I did, I ended up missing you and there were times where I just really wanted to talk to you and you can tell me to shut up, but I do love you and yeah,” And Trent is still standing there.

He blinks, brown eyes wet and this is really awkward and messy because Jesse's still here and Marcus is literally professing his love for Trent on the street where anyone can see but that’s fine because this is everything he’s ever wanted. “Marcus, I was just going to tell you that I love you too.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Marcus lets out, and he smiles at Trent before leaning in to kiss him tenderly. When they break apart, he finds Marcus smiling fondly at him.

“I feel like I've stepped onto the set of Romeo and Juliet,” Jesse tells them, and Trent laughs as he looks up at Marcus. Marcus smiles back down at him, dark brown eyes soft and full of love.

“But without the death,” Marcus says softly, and Trent nods.

“Without the death,” He echoes, and he presses his lips up to Marcus’ again.

("I wonder how you'd look in a sixteenth century dress," Marcus ponders later. "I bet you'd look nice." 

Trent almost tells him to shut up. Instead he just laughs and exclaims, "You're such an idiot," with adoring eyes and his lips curved into a bright wide smile.)

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Trent loves a United player who loves him back. He finds that he's really quite fine with that. 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i think i might be going to hell for this but that's okay.


End file.
